The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1887-10-08

| fame and fortune, and she had looked for
ward to future when, relieved from the
pecuniary weight by her fortune, his talent,
energy and learning should place him high
upon the list in his profession, she always
the confidante and companion in the up
! ward march. She had, without vanity or
pride in the gift, felt conscious of an intel
lect almost masculine in its scope and force.
She had shared her cousin Toms pursuits
and studies since they were little children,
often leaving the noisy, active schoolboy
far behind in the race for knowledge, and
when Horace first wooed her, it had been a
similarity of taste in intellectual pursuits
that had first drawn them together. She
looked back, as she lay wearied and sick
ened, upon the days of their first acquaint-
ance; he, the pale student with his large,
dark eyes, so full of intellectual fire, re-
served and almost naughty, wrapping his
poverty in a cloak of impenetrable pride,
till his heart met hers; she, gay, bright and
careless, wakened from her girlish romano
ing to try to win smile from that melan-
choly face, triumphing later in her power
to break the ice of his reserve, to see the
stih naughty face brighten and soften for
her; to know that, careless and frivolous as
her gay manner might lead others to sup
pose her, he knew that she was earnest and
true under the mask. She thought of the
night when his love burst the barrier Of
his pride, and he poured it fourth in an
earnest, passionate force that carried con-
viction to her very hearts core; and later,
when the memory of her wealth would
have made him retract, she remembered
how she had won him to her belief that a
man might marry an heiress and be man
still; and as her thoughts dwelt on all this
past, she atup bewildered and dizzy, almost
persuaded that she was the victim of some
hideous dream. Was this the man to re-
ject her for her poverty? Could all this
passion have been feigned to WOO the heir
esss? Was all the past one long course of
hypocrisy? Then there was no one true,
no one who could be trusted And she
would not be crushed by the faithessness
of one so far beneath contempt, but prove
to him and to the world that, deprived of
the gliding of wealth, she could break
hearts yet.
Knowing that her amt expected dinner
company, she rose in time to dress for con-
quest Filled with hard, bitter pride,
she spent more time over her toilet than she
had ever given before to her most elaborate
ball-dress. And as she stood before the
long mirror, to see if every fold was right
she smiled haughtily at the reflection before
her. The tall figure, in its rich silk, stood
erect and stately; the small head wreathed
by wealth of black, glossy braids, without
jewel or flower to mar the rich clusters; the
perfect features, rich, dark complexion, and
dark, lustrous eyes, needed no glitter of
wealth to make them incomparably attrac-
tive and beautiful.
And full of the outraged love that had
turned her happy inner life to ashes, proud
and defiant, Anna became belle. She
had been too careless of praise or blame, too
full of half hoydenish mischief, too much
of a recently emancipated school girl before
her engagement, too much engrossed by
her own happy dreams after it, to give the
time or thought to society that it demands
from those it honors; but now, her heart
warped and hardened by the blow of
Horace's falsehood, she gave her mind full
play, astonishing even her relatives by her
brilliant intellect, and her varied informa-
ton. She made her music, before friend
and companion, science for study and pa
tience, and on the foundation laid by her
talent and love for the pleasure, she reared
up brilliant specimen of the art. The
rich, full contralto voice never was heard in
the ball, or her own room, singing gay
snatches of song, or the merry whistle sau-
cily answering some laughing accusation of
tomhoy freaks, but the crowded rooms of
her aunt's friends were filled by the full
food of music rising from her round, white
throat; and even professional singers award
ed grudging praise to the magnificent and
highly cultivated organ. From the merry
laughing girl, the sunbeam in the house,
Anna became close student, digging in
French, German and English literature for
mines of knowledge, making the grand
piano fairly quiver with magnificent passages
next to impossible for woman's fingers to
execute, throwing the full power of her
voice into rapid scales and exercises, and
never allowing one hour for thought till the
night shadows wrapped her close, and she
tried to bury memory in sleep. And for
what? For what was she giving time,
strength, and energy? To prove her pow
er, to triumph in her beauty and talent, to
win hundred hearts in the place of the
one that had cast her out.
No one guessed the reckless misery un-
der all this show of application and pleas
ure-seeking. Her uncle Ralph, her aunt
and cousin felt that there was change, but
they were deceived by the gay manner,
missed none of the wanted earesses OF
words of affection, and though vaguely
wondering sometimes, trusted to time to
bring their Anna of old back again.
Two long years dragged on, and then the
crime of this conduct came home. 1t was
after midnight, and Anna, hsving left
gay ball at its height, was in her own room
pacing the floor in an agony Of remorse and
fear Her rich dress, decked with costly
jewels, gifts of the past, contrasted strange
ly with her pallid face, ashy lips, and eyes
almost staring in their look Of terror.
Upon the dressing-table lay letter, open
and tossed there after its words were burn
ed upon the young girls brain.
III have never seen you, never looked
upon the beauty that is so bewildering,
heard the musical voice that sings sirens
antes, nor felt tho power of tho wonderful
talent wasted upon your unprincipled mind;
but write to curse you, to tell you that l
will pray God to blight your beauty, para
lyze your-tongue, numb your active brain.
Woman do you know what you have done,
do you know that among the victims
to your base flirting, you have ruined
a noble nature, broken loving heart, made
mother worse than childless? What had
my son, my noble, beautiful boy, done to
wrong you, that you should lead him on,
by your witching loveliness, to break his
heart at last2 Do you knew that when,
night after night, he comes reeling home,
blinded by drink, his maudlin rambling is
all Of you? That the morning light finds